


You'll never be alone

by Pupulewahine02



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pupulewahine02/pseuds/Pupulewahine02
Summary: Dean has been saved from eternal damnation, by Castiel. But perhaps, the angel is stubborn to condemn him to a different, more human and carnal perdition.[Post. 4x10]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Part One  
"I know you heard what he said to me," exclaimed, Dean, glaring at his brother. Sam gave him a confused look, shifting his weight from one leg to the other in discomfort. "Who?" he asked, trying to use a light tone. Dean sighed, leaning wearily on the hood of the car. "Alastair. I know you heard what he said to me," he repeated, this time turning to look him in the eye. Finally Sam relented, nodding in response. "Yes, I heard what he told you."  
"And you're not curious?" he asked, surprised. Sam seemed more than a little interested in learning the grisly and painful details of his time in Hell. "I'm damn curious, Dean, but you seem determined not to talk about it. I'm certainly not going to be the one to force you," the calm, gentle tone Sam used made him feel like a child reluctant to recount a nightmare. If only he knew. "Time is different there, you know? It wasn't four months for me. Time was dilated, different, infinite. It was like forty years had passed." he began, his voice low and gruesome. It was like he wasn't really speaking, like he was in a trance. "They did horrible, indescribable things to me. But I resisted, you know. I stayed strong, tried not to think about that pain. To live it as if it were part of my job," his voice was tortured, pained, his eyes glassy as if he were reliving those scenes again and again. In body, in mind, in soul. "But that's not the worst part, Sammy. At some point it wasn't just about the torture anymore. Alastair would come to me, every day, and offer me a deal. I would no longer be tortured, but I would have to start torturing the souls of the damned myself" He felt Sam at his side hold his breath, as if he was living his brother's words on his own skin. "I refused, every day I refused his proposal" hot tears began to stream down Dean's freckled, manly face. "I refused for thirty years, Sammy. Then I gave in," he finally confessed, his voice broken, his face wet with tears. Poorly restrained sobs escaped from his lips, his body shaken by the guilt and pain triggered by the confession. "I gave in, started torturing myself. From victim, I had become executioner."  
"Dean, Dean, don't blame yourself. No one can imagine the pain you felt there, no one could blame you. You held on for thirty years, Dean, it would have been impossible to go on forever" twin tears streamed down Sam's face, his heart clenched in a vice grip from the realization that he was the real culprit. Dean had saved him, and in return Sam had given him forty years of damnation. He thanked Castiel with all his might for saving him from perdition.  
"Sam, that's why I don't understand why they saved me. I didn't deserve this, Sammy, I don't deserve to be here," he said, finally, and then walked back toward the driver's seat. 

They had returned to the motel together, each one gathered in his own silence made of melancholic thoughts. Distracted, each in his own world, they didn't say a word to each other during the trip, and even when they arrived in the suit of the motel they seemed to be floating in a reality they didn't know. "I'm going to go buy something to eat" Dean said mechanically, feeling the urgent need to get out. Air, he needed air. Getting his breath back seemed so difficult, he wondered if he hadn't been apnea all that time. He was walking fast, as if someone - or something - was chasing him. It was probably because of the panic attack that he felt was imminent. He reached the drugstore near the motel where they were staying, trying to regain control of his body and mind. He grabbed several snacks - he didn't even try to pretend to be interested - his eyes downcast to hide the pain and torment he felt inside, and threw everything on the counter, with little grace. He didn't even glance at the cashier, grabbing a handful of bills from his back pants pocket. "I'll pay for these, and a pack of cigarettes," he said, half-heartedly, waiting until he saw the pack appear and could get out of there. "What brand?" the cashier asked, listlessly.  
"The most carcinogenic one you know," he gave him a sarcastic half-smile, and then grabbed the cardboard bag that had been brought to him and left the store without even saying goodbye.  
He noticed a bench nearby, deserted, and sat down with little grace. He took the pack of cigarettes, lit one, and began to smoke it greedily. Immediately the bitter taste of nicotine invaded his mouth, entering his lungs with force. Without realizing it, he finished it in a few puffs, finding the stub still burning in his hands. He threw it to the ground, without care, and immediately took another one. It was all very quick: the flame of the lighter went out in a second, a stormy wind arose, and he distinctly heard the deafening sound of festive bells.  
Dean sighed, renouncing his intent to wallow in sadness and give himself lung cancer at a young age. "Castiel," he said, in an exasperated tone, only to see the angel appear at his side. He was tight in his usual light trench coat, a hard expression on his face. His indescribably blue eyes were darker than usual, similar to the stormy sea.  
"Why are you here?" asked to him, Dean, folding in one of his snacks to quell that nicotine craving. "You know you're not supposed to smoke?" clearly the angel was intent on annoying - even more than usual - Dean, ignoring his questions and addressing some unnecessary ones in response. "I'm aware of the risk. But I think dying from lung cancer is more rewarding than selling your soul to a demon," said, sourly. The silence between them became thick and awkward again. He hated having to wait for his "angel's" will to speak; it made him nervous. Exasperated by the silence, Dean stood up and walked in the opposite direction of Castiel. "Dean," the angel said in an exasperated tone, materializing in front of the boy. The hunter restrained himself from cursing, however, giving him a grim look. "What the hell do you want?!" he blurted, exasperated. The other one just observed him, looking intensely into his eyes, as if he wanted to discover every secret of his soul.  
"What happened between you and Anna?" he asked, in a low, hoarse voice. Dean was speechless for a moment, confused, trying to metabolize what he had been asked. His expression changed abruptly, from confused to enraged. He contracted his jaw hard, making it even sharper and more pronounced. "What on earth do you care! Does it go against your fucking angel rules to get a healthy fuck?!" he exploded in rage at the other, letting all the tension, the anger, the pain pour out against that unwitting victim.  
"She was still human, and she decided to give herself one last earthly pleasure, before shoving that angelic broom up her ass you all have," he growled, contemptuously. It was impossible, inconceivable to him that Castiel, the angel, the soldier of God, would be there to lecture him about a one-night stand. Anna and Dean had met at the moment when they were both broken inside. Two broken souls, alone, unable to express their pain to others. And they had kept each other company, loved, if only for one night. Dean had allowed himself to wade in, to really look, laying bare all his insecurities, his fears, his pain and torment that wouldn't let him be free. Physically he was on earth, breathing, living, yet a part of himself was still confined there, in Hell. Not only in dreams, even when he allowed himself to let go for a moment, he remembered what had been inflicted on him and what he himself inflicted on other damned souls. And he liked it. He had washed away his pain with sin. Sin that would never leave him. His soul was soiled, dirty, filthy. He had no chance to redeem himself.  
He shook his head, exasperated, his mind saturated with thoughts, memories, pain. It was too much, all too much to bear. And he was tired, so tired. He couldn't, and perhaps didn't want to, go on like this anymore. "Leave me alone, Castiel. This is not the time, I don't have the strength to stand here and listen to your bullshit," and for the second time he turned his back on him, determined to leave. He was tired, of a tiredness that he knew would never go away. Castiel grabbed him by the arm, right where he'd grabbed him when he'd taken him away from eternal damnation. The skin sensitive to his touch - perhaps even more so because the touch was Castiel's - sent a thousand shivers down his spine, leaving him breathless. He moved like clay between the angel's hands, letting himself be turned in his direction. The hand still resting on his shoulder burned like fire. A fire he could never have described. Visceral, intimate, heavenly. Castiel's gaze was dark, even darker than he'd noted moments before. Dark, penetrating. bewitching. It was liquid fire, boiling, dripping down his body like honey, softly, enveloping him like the warmest of blankets. He parted his lips, about to speak, yet no sound came from his mouth. He was bewitched, as if under a spell. He winced when Castiel's gaze turned to his lips, feeling every nerve ending quiver. His hands itched, his skin cried out for his touch. He wanted it, craved it. A fire impossible to extinguish except by the other's touch. "Let's get out of here," whispered the angel, only to have the other disappear into thin air as well.  
Inside the motel room, Dean felt safer. Or maybe it was because both of Castiel's hands were clasped around his body. He could feel the heat emanating from his palms through his clothes, and he restrained himself from moaning. He didn't know what was happening to his body. He felt possessed, yet at the same time so free. "You're mine" Castiel exclaimed, suddenly, igniting the spark of arousal in Dean.  
"I'm yours?" he asked, the hunter, in an attempt to come across as mocking. He looked deeply into his eyes, wondering if when he'd had sex with Anna he'd felt the same sensations. Maybe it was the amazing effect of the angels. Castiel's expression changed, as if he'd sensed his thoughts, and a low, almost primal, animalistic growl spread through Dean's mind, leaving him breathless and incredibly aroused. "Don't think about her," he intimated, tightening his grip on his arm even more. The words spoken by the other had the opposite effect: in an attempt to keep the memories of the night spent with Anna out of his mind, he found himself reliving them. Traitorous mind! Clutched in the angel's steel grip, and with all his senses on high alert, it didn't take Dean long to realize what was happening. Castiel's lips had fallen angrily to Dean's, demanding a kiss that tasted both sacred and profane. They pressed against each other, bodies colliding, tongues fighting, and unrelenting desire flowing into each other's bodies. They separated only when Dean found himself gasping for air and trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. He could still feel the heat of Castiel's lips on his own, the sweet, fresh, intoxicating taste of the angel's mouth in his own. He smelled it on him, knew it, felt it. And hell, he loved it. Yet he was confused. He didn't know what had happened - or rather, how it could have happened - he didn't know why, and what it meant to him - to them. He took a step away from Castiel's figure, still upset and too high strung to reason rationally. Castiel had kissed him, he had no doubt about that. And he'd kissed him back, hell yes, and he'd damn well liked it. But he was confused, he needed to think, to reason with a clear head.  
"I- I have to go," he said only, his eyes slightly liquid and vacant. He didn't bother waiting for a word from the other, he decided to escape as quickly as possible. In his heart he hoped the angel would follow him, seize him, take him back to that room and then give himself to him in all the most obscene ways he knew how. And, Dean be damned, he was also quite attracted to the idea of coming back to indulge in that heavenly pleasure, but part of himself told himself that he had to think about it with a clear head. After his escape, he slowly made his way back to his own motel, letting the crisp evening air hit him full in the face, bringing him back to reality.


	2. Part Two

Part Two  
Dean's awakening was less traumatic than usual. He opened his eyes slowly, unhurriedly adjusting to the light filtering through the dark curtains that were still closed. He turned to Sam's bed, finding it empty, but still unmade. He felt rested, for the first time in months. Specifically, for the first time since Castiel had rescued him from Hell. He sighed at the thought of Cas, realizing not only that he hadn't had nightmares, but that he had dreamed of the angel. Confusing images swirled through his mind: the other's soft, fleshy lips, the blue eyes that looked at him like he was one of the wonders of the world. He could still feel the warmth of the other man's lips on his own. He stroked his mouth slowly, as if terrified that the heavenly sensation would vanish forever. He was still sensitive to the touch, almost as if he'd been kissed all night.  
"Hey, you're awake," Sam's warm, peppy voice brought him back to reality. He snapped his head up, blushing slightly at the unchaste thoughts that had crossed his mind. He and Castiel, wrapped in an intimate embrace. Hands tasting every inch of their skin, as if learning by heart the myriad nuances of their bodies. And Castiel's lips, so sinful to belong to an angel, roaming restlessly over his neck, down his chest, in a heavenly descent to his sex.  
"Dean?" called out to him, again, Sam, turning a worried look on him. Dean cleared his throat, trying to push through the hint of excitement that had inexorably encompassed him at the thought of the angel. "Yes, sorry, I was overthinking it," he replied, after a while, disguising his own discomfort. He got up, with his usual listless attitude, and went to the bathroom with the excuse of having to brush his teeth. He closed the door with force, as if trying to wake up from a daydream, and leaned his back against it wearily. He closed his eyes, sighing, trying to regain control of his body.  
"Cas" found himself sighing, against his own will. His mind was totally clouded with a desire he had never felt before. He remembered clearly the kiss he and the angel had exchanged the night before. And he remembered well his own escape as well. He mentally called himself a fool, because never in his life would he have thought he could be so dumb as to run away from such a situation. "You are mine," Castiel had told him, his voice hoarse and his gaze hard, serious. Caught up in the confusion he hadn't given any weight to that phrase, deciding instead to provoke him. Dean was his, he knew it, he felt it, and in his heart he had been aware of it since the first time he had seen him. But what did that phrase really mean to the angel? Trying to understand Castiel's thoughts had always proven difficult for him, but in this case he had no idea how to interpret it.  
"God, Castiel, you're going to drive me crazy," he muttered, and then opened his eyes, determined to start that day like any other. The first thing he saw, as soon as he could focus the room, were Castiel's impossibly blue eyes. His breath caught in his throat, feeling stupidly violated in the privacy of the bathroom. He took a hesitant step forward, more trying to show off his swagger than anything else. He was grateful to be wearing a pair of pajama pants that were definitely loose, because otherwise he wouldn't have known how to explain the instant erection that had formed. Damn him, angel! And damn his hormones going crazy for him.  
"You called me," he said, Castiel, with an unflappable calm. His eyes gave him a serious look, as if he were awaiting a particular order. And, God, Dean would have loved to have been giving orders to his beautiful angel. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to call you," he said, simply, shrugging. He walked past the angel figure to the sink and - finally - brushed his teeth. He kept his gaze down, contemplating the water that flowed incessantly, even though he felt Cas' eyes burning his back. He felt his presence, behind him, and had to keep himself at the sink to not assault him and make it his at that very moment, in a motel bathroom, with his brother in the other room. "We need to talk," he sentenced, serious, advancing in his direction and taking a seat at his side. All he had to do to see him was turn his head a few inches to the left, but he didn't feel like laying himself bare like that. He watched his gaze from the mirror - filthy and definitely of low quality - trying not to be at all impressed by his tone.  
He shrugged his shoulders, indifferently, abandoning his reflection and turning his gaze back to the running water. He gripped the toothbrush firmly in his right hand - trying not to imagine something bigger and hotter in its place - and began to brush his teeth vigorously.  
"I don't have anything to say to you, but if you want to talk, be my guest," he said, clenching the toothbrush between his teeth and looking at it sideways.  
"We need to talk about what happened yesterday," Castiel said finally, trying to make his own tone as calm and warm as possible. Dean seemed to ignore his words, still intent on attending to his own dental hygiene. What Castiel didn't know, however, was when the hunter was actually burning with the desire to find those wonderful, sinful lips pressed against his own. Yes, he told himself, he would gladly sell his soul to the devil again, just so he could taste Castiel's lips again.  
After rinsing - for the third time - his mouth, he decided he had taken the time to do something he usually did in ten minutes in the morning. He turned back to Castiel, arching an eyebrow, still waiting for the other to speak. They watched each other for what seemed to Dean far too long. He could list all the fine lines of expression on Castiel's face, the darker shades of blue that littered the clear eyes. And Castiel, on the other hand, had managed to count - well, not that it was the first time - the freckles that made Dean's face look more boyish, if still manly and handsome.  
Dean huffed, rolling his eyes, then gave him a shove to get him to move. He opened the door ungently, making the handle squeak dangerously, heading back toward the bedroom. "I've grown tired of your games, Castiel. If you don't want to talk, I don't give a damn. Just don't stand there looking at me with that fucking expression," he huffed, grabbing a shirt and a pair of pants from his duffel bag.  
"I was simply hoping to have a more civilized conversation than yesterday," Castiel said, glacially, watching the hunter's movements. "You mean when you dicked me over for fucking a girl? I didn't take you for such a bigot, Castiel, you should know that I never deny myself a sexual pleasure if I get the chance," Dean exclaimed, sarcastically, rejoicing internally when an ill-concealed growl escaped Castiel's throat.  
"You've been my guardian angel for a while now, you should know that sex and girls are my only belief" he murmured, almost seductively, quickly shedding the shirt he wore to sleep. He was shirtless now, and at the slightest movement Castiel could see the mighty muscles dart out. He gave him a mischievous look from over his shoulder, before shedding his baggy pants as well, remaining only in his boxers.  
"In fact, you could say that sex and girls are my only God," his breath caught in a second as Castiel pushed him hard against the wall. He felt his breath leave his lungs, for a moment, leaving him gasping for oxygen. Castiel's face was a span away from his own, his expression hard, furious. He pushed his arm hard against his throat, holding him against the wall with his whole body to prevent any source of escape. "Don't say such profanities in my presence," he growled against his lips, his eyes ablaze with blind passion. "Or what?" whispered - nay, gasped - Dean in response, letting a small mischievous smile form on his lips. Castiel contracted his jaw, causing the already normally austere features of his face to harden deliciously. "You want to test the wrath of a soldier of God?" he demanded, angrily, pushing against the hunter's body until their bodies were completely joined. Dean could feel Castiel's dysphragm rise and fall, unconsciously dictating the rhythm of his breathing as well. "You knew well, Castiel, when you saved me from eternal damnation that I'm anything but a saint," he whispered against the angel's lips, which twitched for a moment. Castiel's breath against his own face was cool, familiar, exciting.  
"And you know it wasn't my decision to save you from damnation," he murmured, intently watching the other's lips, now parted to let out a shaky breath.  
"You're right, it's all part of a greater design, a divine plan. But then tell me, Castiel, why does it bother you so much if I act the way God created me?" Castiel did not answer, he breathed hard through his nose, as if trying to contain his anger.  
"Do you know what Anna said to me? Yes, just before I fucked her," he pretended to ignore the other man's guttural cry in response to his words. "She told me that more than anything, she longed to be like us humans. To have feelings, pleasure, pain, and that what he wanted most was... sex," he whispered the last word against the angel's ear drum, faking a moan. And finally he had what he had wanted most since he had seen him appear before him in the bathroom: his lips pressed tightly against his. He grasped his face angrily, as if afraid that he might regain a shred of sanity and decide to pull away. He tangled his fingers in his dark curls, drowning in his lips with desire. He moaned into her mouth as he felt his hands - hot as hell and wonderful as heaven - move deftly over his body. He tasted all the curves, the toned muscles, the scars that defined that manly, exciting body. Yes, even for an angel Dean was definitely hot. He angrily bit the hunter's sinful lips, as if to punish him for his provocation, and continued to torture him until he had to pull away to breathe. Dean's eyes were liquid, glossy with desire, his lips swollen, red, vermilion and full of bite. He looked at Castiel as if - for the first time - he realized there was an angel standing next to him. "You. You are. Mine," he punctuated, in a gravelly voice, the same phrase that had been echoing in Dean's mind since the night before. The human was out of breath, gasping for some oxygen, and at those words he could only suppress a groan of excitement. Castiel's hard expression softened, and he took to stroking his face lovingly. He could feel Dean's thoughts bouncing around in his own mind. He felt the guilt, the terror of being wrong, dirty, unfit. The angel's attentions to him were impossible to accept. He was unworthy, unworthy of his brother's love, of the determination with which he believed him innocent. And unworthy of the trust Castiel, the angels, and all of creation placed in him. "Dean..." whispered Castiel softly, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Dean, never believe that you are unworthy of being loved. Not by your brother, not by God. You were chosen, Dean, and that makes you the purest and most wonderful of people," then kissed him again. The passion that had gripped them until then was dissipating, giving way to a less impetuous and more pure desire. They continued kissing for an infinite time, letting their bodies come closer, touching, brushing against each other, without haste.  
"Wait, wait...what about Sam?" he asked, Castiel, in a flash of clarity. He remembered with certainty that he'd felt his presence when Dean had called him, but he hadn't paid attention to it since he'd followed him out of the bathroom. A throaty laugh invaded the boy, whose chest began to vibrate from the unexpected hilarity. "Cas, do you think I would have ever approached you so brazenly if my brother had been there?" he asked, a boyish smile on his lips. Castiel frowned, noting how effectively his observation was misplaced. He smiled mischievously, Dean, pulling the boy closer against his body again. "Were you hitting on me?" he murmured, Castiel, looking at him with demure shyness. He could feel Dean's breath break against his lips, leaving him in longing anticipation. He was shaken by a desire he'd never felt in his life. Angels had no emotions, they were God's soldiers whose only job was to obey. Yet ever since he'd saved Dean, a connection had formed that he couldn't describe. Every action of the angel seemed to be a function of the happiness and serenity of the other. Emotions that for a first moment he had ignored, because they didn't seem strange, emotions that he traced solely and exclusively to his divine mission. But the jealousy that had erupted in his chest at the vision of Anna and Dean had been devastating, unfamiliar, uncontrollable. He couldn't bear the idea that the other's body could even be touched by someone other than himself. Dean seemed to ignore his words, deciding instead to torture his neck with kisses and bites. He held him by the hips, as if Castiel intended to escape those attentions. But the reality was quite different: Castiel was slowly slipping into a whirlwind of lascivious sensations. Every fiber of his body tensed toward those unknown and exciting caresses. He felt his spirit animated by a new force, a blinding passion that slid like lava through his veins. He found himself moaning without even knowing what it really meant. His brain turned off, focused solely and exclusively on one thing: Dean, Dean, Dean.  
"Dean," he bellowed, his lower lip clenched in the grip of his own teeth to keep himself from being obscenely succumbing to that passion. "Tell me, Cas, what do you desire?" the hunter asked in a warm, seductive tone, speaking directly against his ear, then reaching down to nibble on the soft, sensitive lobe.  
The angel's neck was flushed, stained by the bites and hickeys the hunter had imprinted on his skin. Too attracted to that sight, Dean went down to lick the outline of his neck, tracing the reddish marks he had so lavishly left on it. "I- I don't know, I've never felt like this," he sighed, gripping the other man's shoulders tightly.  
"Do you want me?" he asked, stepping over the barrier of the shirt he wore, essaying the angel's warm skin for the first time. "Do you want me?" he asked again, pushing down the khaki trench coat, letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. "Yes," he groaned, finally intoxicated by the human's touch. It was too much, too much to bear, and yet so magnificently satisfying. He felt himself on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into the most carnal and sinful passion.


	3. Part Three

Part Three  
Dean held him tightly to himself, making their bodies match perfectly. His mind was completely clouded by that unknown desire. He didn't know what to do, how to do it, where to put his hands; a man's body - Castiel's, because in that moment he was thinking only and exclusively of him, he desired him - was different from the soft and much more buttery body of the girls he had always dated. But he let himself be guided, by that visceral, passionate desire that set him on fire like fire on gasoline. And he felt himself burning, and wished that the other was burning with his own carnal desire as well.  
"Dean," a gasp escaped Castiel's sinful lips, a prayer, an unfamiliar desire, and Dean decided to go along with it, to make his wish come true. Tight against his own body he began to walk in the direction of his own bed, still unmade, and mending the dream - definitely pushed - that he had experienced that night. A part of his mind told him that his imagination was nothing compared to reality.  
And he was right, damn it! He felt lost, plunged into an abyss he didn't know, where he could only hear, see, want Castiel. They threw themselves on the bed, both panting, Dean almost completely naked, and Castiel with his shirt open over his muscular chest.  
"Tell me what you want, Castiel, your every wish will come true," whispered, Dean, towering over the angel's body.

Castiel's hard, rigid expression seemed to collapse, for an instant, as his mind was shot through with the least chaste and pure thoughts that could exist.  
"I-" he murmured, only to close his eyes and let out an unexpected moan of pleasure. He felt Dean's warm lips teasing him, now biting his earlobe, now licking the outline of his neck. "Touch me," he managed to say, in a whisper, laying down more on the bed, tensing all his muscles, showing himself completely at the Hunter's mercy. He wanted Dean's hands to touch him, to explore him, to love him. He wanted to feel his heat burning his skin, sending him into raptures, a slave to this new passion that only he could bring forth.  
"Whatever you want," he murmured, Dean, peeling off his shirt and tossing it absentmindedly. It flew to the bed that had been occupied by his brother that night, and a small, amused smile rippled his lips. But the smile died soon after, when the sight of Castiel's - finally - bare chest caught his attention. Castiel's lean, shapely physique was revealed beneath him, a wonder to his eyes, but even more so to his hands. He slowly felt the hinted curves of the muscles, enjoying the shivers of pleasure that shook his angel. His. He truly understood the meaning of that word, possessive and delicious, when he heard Cas moan at his touch. Feeling him give in under his touch, lowering all the defenses he'd built up at the exact moment he'd realized he was starting to feel something. Feelings, unknown to angels, perfect beings who don't need to feel anything. Warriors, faithful to their God. He slowly explored each patch of skin with his lips, tasting the texture of the silky smooth skin, feeling his lips tingle with the light fluff that littered his otherwise white chest. His hands ran to grasp his wrists, leaving him exposed and helpless beneath him, succumbing to that passion and desire he'd never felt, or imagined. He felt Dean's plump lips seal one of his nipples, squeezing it between his lips and begin to play and abuse it. Moistened by the other man's saliva, it swelled, leaving him breathless and with his mouth open in a stifled moan.  
"D-Dean," he moaned, closing his eyes and letting himself go completely. Every fiber of his body burned from the erotic caresses the boy reserved for him, every patch of skin aflame with the desire to be touched, explored, possessed. He wanted to be Dean's, completely.  
The hunter's eyes raced to the angel's face, meeting the two pools of sky in place of his eyes, reading all the desire he felt, similar to his own. "Cas," whispered Dean in response, in an erotic prayer, a plea for help that only he could and should grant. Their lips met, in a carnal kiss, rough, devoid of any logical sense. They pressed against each other, in an attempt to feel, feel, feel, more and more. Castiel's eyes were two blue pools of desire, the pupil dilated, the languid gaze he cast in Dean's direction. And Dean couldn't help but grow harder and harder under that look of erotic pleading. The Hunter fumbled with the angel's classically cut belt and pants, quickly lowering them and leaving him alone with his underwear as well.  
He could feel the warmth of Castiel's body - yes, because to him that belonged exclusively to Castiel - and it only made the blood boil in his veins. Blind passion assailed him, and in a few moments he found himself kneeling before Cas. The angel looked up at him from under his long lashes, an expression both confused and excited at the same time. A mischievous smile formed on Dean's lips, slowly, as he completely undressed his little angel. That, broke the last barrier of demureness that had remained between the two of them; Castiel was now in his most purely human form. Undressed, proud in his nakedness and hardness, which couldn't help but draw Dean's incredibly ravenous attention. He brushed his fingertips over the angel's muscular legs, slowly moving up to the other, aiming for the pelvis. He felt incredibly powerful, and at the same time succubus: that's how Castiel made him feel, constantly. Victim and executioner. And it made him alive, damn alive. "I see you finally knelt before a soldier of God," Castiel's voice was hoarse, unsteady, uncertain. And here he too was showing himself to be succubus and executioner. Dean's short, hoarse laugh shook the angel's entire body, sending shivers of excitement through him. "I'm not devoted to any god," he murmured, before throwing himself down to taste the other man's sinful fruit. He slowly took Cas's hard, hot erection between his lips, sending Dean's taste buds into raptures. The smell of the angel there was stronger, intoxicating him with its pure essence. He moved calmly, slowly, assaying inch by inch the other's hard flesh, enjoying torturing him deliciously with a particular focus of his tongue. Cas was now a mass of moans and gasps, unable to decipher all the sensations he was feeling, new, hot, heavenly. He felt his own body burning under those laps, under Dean's sometimes slow and sometimes rough touch. "Dean!" he exclaimed, his eyes narrowed and his hands clasped in the other man's hair. He wanted to have him closer, to feel his own erection sink between the Hunter's wet, sinful lips. He wanted more, demanded more. "More, Dean...don't stop," he bellowed, disconnected thoughts devoid of all logic leaving his lips, until he reached his own pleasure, screaming his Hunter's name and pouring between his lips. Dean didn't move, he stayed and took in everything Cas had to offer him, enjoying watching him in primal pleasure.  
He separated from Cas's body slowly, running his lips along the length of his still lingering, sensitive erection. Castiel, shaken but still lucid, could read the pleasure the human was feeling at that moment, and a sudden urge to dare pervaded him. With force, he pulled him against himself, then pushed him with his back on the mattress and positioned himself astride his pelvis.  
"Don't be so smug, it's not over yet," he quickly released his of erection, towering, rigid and in need of attention. Moved by who knows what unknown knowledge, Castiel grabbed Dean's right hand, pruned two of his fingers against his lips, and began to suck and suck them hard, without taking his eyes off the other. Dean watched him with his eyes wide open, liquid with desire and illuminated by a new awareness. He couldn't help but groan ruefully as he felt his own fingers penetrate Castiel, slowly, allowing himself to be sucked in inch by inch. He closed his eyes, his breathing cut off by that new stimulation, and restrained himself from completely losing control. He felt Cas move against his fingers, in a slow, cadenced dance, penetrating himself with Dean's hand still clutched between his own. He felt him swaying, pleasuring himself and preparing for what would be Cas and Dean's real first time.  
"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he felt Castiel lower himself fully onto his erection. He could feel with every fiber of his being, Castiel's hot, feverish body, his walls gripping him tightly in a deadly, erotic vice. He gripped his hips tightly as he felt him move on his pelvis, lowering himself deeper and deeper, letting every inch of Dean's flesh enter him completely.  
"You... little bastard," he exclaimed, too intoxicated by Castiel's body heat. The latter looked at him mischievously, casting him a glare, before stepping closer to him and whispering against his ear. "It's me, Dean, I'm your only god," Dean's breath caught in his throat as Castile's words triggered new feelings. He growled hoarsely, before forcefully pushing him back, and beginning to work his way into him. Sink after sink, moan after moan, they both surrendered to what was pure reality: they belonged to each other.  
"Oh, Dean," sighed Castiel, once again obnubilated with pleasure, as he pressed the Hunter's body tightly against himself. "Only I, Cas, only I can do this," growled, Dean, caught up in a possessive feeling unknown to him. He groaned, in a mixture of pain and pleasure, as Castiel's nails sank into his flesh, branding him again, on his back. With each thrust, harder and rougher, they pressed into each other, kissing and branding each other. First on his neck, on his shoulder, on his jaw, every inch of skin screamed the belonging of one to the other  
"You're only mine, Dean," he growled, Cas, before pouring out again and staining their chests. Dean, not so far from climaxing in turn, tightened his grip on the other's hips, moving with quick, close hits. "It's you, Cas, it's always been you, my only God," he whispered to him, with a gentleness that clashed with the rough thrusts. They kissed one last time, before Dean poured into Castiel, branding him as his, forever.

They were both out of breath, too shaken by what had just happened. Squeezed in an embrace that was both sweet and erotic, they looked into each other's eyes. Just glances, no words, but that was enough for them. "Thank you, Cas," whispered, Dean, smiling softly. "What exactly are you thanking me for?" the angel asked, back, looking at him confused. "For believing in me then, for believe in me now, and for always seeing good in me," he said, before looking away, embarrassed. "I understand," Castiel said alone, taking refuge in his reflective silence. Their bodies were still intimately close, drawn together like two magnets so they could pull apart. "Dean?" called back Castiel, looking at him firmly. "Yes, Cas?" he replied, this time him confused by his gaze. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm around. I'll always be here when you need me. You'll never be alone," he said, making Dean's heart melt from a steel grip. It was true, he would never be alone, with Castiel by his side.


End file.
